


In a Tizzy

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt, but just you wait my dudes, hc, logicality - Freeform, prompt, they're comin, they're kinda sprinkled in there right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: "Headcanon that Roman acts so confident that the others rarely ever think to compliment him. He’s not used to being complimented, so on those rare occasions where he is, he gets all quiet & blushy & flustered." PART ONEIt's turning out a lot longer than I meant, but here we go!post is https://spoonfullofcrofters.tumblr.com/post/174192716384/softestvirgil-peachy-pattoncake-headcanon from @peachy-pattoncake on tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

Thomas’s deadlines always affected the Sides.

 Not directly, of course - certainly not in the way their rooms affected each other - but they were all sent into overdrive, sometimes working day and night as recording and editing and posting all approached. They all tried to contribute their most to get the video out on time (for once). Admittedly, some contributed more than others, which was exactly why Logan had been up since five thirty that morning on the dot, pencils, paper, and a breakfast bar (he always had a few in his top desk drawer) prepared the night before and laid neatly across his desk. He was ready to set to work at five thirty-five.

He’d already drafted a practical budget for the video, written, cleared, checked, and double-checked Thomas’s schedule to make room for recording, and made a list of possible background music - separated by genre, of course - by the time the sun spilled into his room and onto his desktop nearly an hour later. Flexing his hand, he glanced out into the Mindscape beyond, and allowed himself a sweet second to admire the warm weather after a week of rain - Thomas didn’t get out enough on his own, Lord knew he didn’t need a reason to; sunlight danced on the windowpane, reflecting off Logan’s Newton’s cradle and the small glass turtle Patton had given him two Christmases ago, casting a sea-green glow across his carpeted floor. He cherished these moments in the morning; the hour or two of quiet before the other Sides and even Thomas himself woke and began their…  _eccentric_ daily go-abouts, the moments of peace when he could just stare out windows without having to worry about reining in their daydreams or smoothing their worries in his own (admittedly blunt) fashion.

 A crash sounded from below him.

 Well, there went his peace.

 Logan turned back and looked over his papers, straightening them with a sigh; he could do no more until they established a pitch for the video. There was no other beneficial choice but to head downstairs and investigate the noise, no doubt another plate to be replaced in the constantly-emptying cabinet. He gathered the papers into a folder before smoothing his shirt, moving towards the stairs with as blank a face as he could manage in his preemptive exasperation.

  He was only slightly surprised to see Roman behind the counter, grumbling quietly to himself as he swept something off the ground, his red sash askew across his chest. His head snapped up as Logan cleared his throat.

  Roman’s eyes were bloodshot and underlined in lilac half moons, his bangs feathery as they fell into his face; his outfit was wrinkled in far more places than the prince would ever consciously allow (in front of the others, anyway). He raised his eyebrows and straightened with a cough. “Logan, good morning! What can I help you with?”

  “I heard a crash,” Logan stated, leaning slightly to look over the side of the counter - sure enough, shards littered the ground by Roman’s feet. “Ah.”

  “I was just cleaning it up,” Roman said, nudging the nearest piece with the tip of his boot, a frown printed across his face.

  “Yes, I gathered.” He watched with pursed lips as Roman fumbled for the broom a foot away. “Roman, did you sleep last night?”

  Roman paused. “…Yes?”

  Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut - how many times did he stress the importance of a steady sleep pattern? He couldn’t imagine it to be that difficult to follow a simple schedule. “Roman, you know it’s important for Thomas’s health that we get enough sleep.” Roman didn’t answer, just kept sweeping at the forlorn plate shards scattered across the tile floor. “What exactly, might I ask, were you doing that you prioritized over your basic needs?”

  “Oh!” Roman dropped the broom with a crash that echoed uncomfortably in Logan’s ears; the fanciful side quite literally leapt to the table, mumbling incoherent cheers as he shuffled through a stack of papers before pulling one out with a dramatic swipe of his arm through the air, a sparkling smile gracing his face. “For the video!” He handed it to Logan and went back to sweeping, but his eyes flickered up every few seconds to watch him read it.

  Logan picked through the pitch - it detailed an exploration of Disney history, or rather, their original stories, and suggested a comparison of the two using visuals via Roman. It seemed to parallel Roman and Virgil’s brief discussion over the subject from a number of videos ago, but this pitch included Patton and Logan, to ‘provide factual support and light humor to the origins of the tales’. Roman noted it as a fun filler video, but Logan had to admit, he was impressed with the detail of the concept.

  He straightened his glasses. “This is quite exceptional, Roman. Well done.” His eyes skimmed over the text again, pausing when the room remained silent. He glanced up.

  Roman was staring directly at him, his mouth open the slightest bit as he regarded the logical side with blatant shock. After a moment of his gaze traveling between Logan and the pitch, he uttered a choked, “…What?”

  “I said well done,” Logan repeated slowly, lifting the paper for clarification. “It’s an interesting idea, one that I am sure both Thomas and the viewers will enjoy.”

  Roman continued staring; he looked doubtful, but his cheeks were dusted in light pink. “R-really? You like it?”

  “Well, it’s certainly not bad by any means.” Logan simpered to himself. “I do rather enjoy historical pursuits.”

  “Oh,” Roman said simply, glancing at the page as if he’d never seen it. “That’s- good, that’s very- if you’ll excuse me,” he said quickly, grabbing the remaining papers spread across the tabletop and all but running out of the room and up the stairs.

 “You-” Logan watched him disappear to the second floor. “Well then.” How curious; Roman rarely passed up an opportunity to gloat - much to Logan’s chagrin - so why the odd reaction? Logan glanced between the paper and the stairs, his mind whirring.

  Well, he had some spare time before he went back to work on the video plans, and he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to brush up on some of Thomas’s scientific skills-

 

 “VIRGIL!”

  The anxious side fell off his bed with a shriek as Logan burst through the door to his room; he peeked over the edge a moment later, bangs covering his eyes. “ _What_?!”

  “I need your help with an experiment immediately.”

  Virgil’s eyes went wide and he sunk farther behind the bed, glancing wildly at the door as Logan closed it behind him. “If this is anything like last summer, I don’t want anything to do with it-”

  “No, no,” Logan insisted, waving a hand through the air to shoo the statement away, “that was a fluke - it won’t happen again, don’t worry. No, I need your help with what should be a rather simple investigation.”

  Virgil watched him, his gaze wary. “What is it?”

  “I need you to compliment Roman.”

  Virgil froze, shooting Logan a quizzical glance; he looked ready to laugh with a tiny, disbelieving smile pulling at his lips, but his face fell when Logan simply raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

  “Always am. Necktie.”

  “No!” Virgil swiped his hair out of his face and crawled back onto his bed. “Not gonna happen, Lo-”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s Princey?” He raised his eyebrows as if the answer should have been obvious. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he kind of hates me.”

  “I beg to differ,” Logan said, crossing his arms. Virgil’s mouth snapped shut. “He seems to enjoy your- eh, banter quite a bit, from what I’ve observed. Have you ever considered he’s simply keeping up an act? He is the performer, after all.”

  Virgil went quiet. “What have you observed?”

  “The details aren’t important-”

  “I’m not doing anything until you tell me,” Virgil snapped. His eyes flicked to Logan’s smug smile and he hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself. “I just wanna know, not-” He sighed and rubbed his eyes; his purple eyeshadow didn’t appear to smudge at all. “Nevermind. Why am I doing this, exactly?“

  “I’m… curious.”

  Virgil pulled his hands away from his face, his expression deadpan. “That’s it? I’m risking my dignity because you have a question?”

  “All of science is just ‘having a question’, Virgil - and I assure you, you’re not risking anything, dignity or otherwise.”

  “Why don’t you just make Patton do it? He’s better at all the-  _smiley_ stuff.”

  Logan resisted the urge to pull at his hair -  _patience, Logan, patience is key_  - instead taking a deep breath and straightening his back. “I will, in due time, but I need different variables; there may be multiple outcomes the tests, and I must explore all aspects of the experiment to get the most accurate conclusion.”

  Virgil narrowed his eyes. “What do I get out of it?”

  “Well, you’ll get the satisfaction of seeing Roman’s reaction, should my hypothesis prove correct.” Virgil raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I’ll also relieve you of your obligation to attend Family Game night for the next three weeks.”

  Virgil chewed on his lip before offering Logan a reluctant glance. “Make it four.”

  “Deal.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is less Roman, but trust me, it's coming y'all
> 
> enjoy!

 Logan carried through the day as normal - work on the video using Roman’s idea as an outline for the production schedule, take a thirty-five minute break for lunch at two o’clock, continue working on Thomas’s video (and draft a grocery list, as they were nearly out of food  _ again _ ) - without any sign of Roman, who seemed to have confined himself to his room since that morning. 

  “DINNER!” Patton’s cheerful call traveled from the kitchen to the Commons where Virgil and Logan sat; their eyes met across the room as Roman bounded down the stairs in a more casual outfit than his usual princely uniform, a glowing smile on his face. 

  “Specs, Blake Oh-So-Lively,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the two Sides who gave him quiet stares in return. He harrumphed under his breath and spun to face Patton instead. “Padre! Might I inquire about our fine meal tonight?”

  “Well, kiddo,” Patton giggleed over his shoulder, “I’m not sure I wanna  _ taco  _ ‘bout it!” He peeked back at the others with a wide smile, holding up a tray of taco shells to prompt their reactions. “Yeah? They’re tacos!”

  “Right,” Logan said after a moment, clearing his throat as he closed his book and stood from the couch. “That was- let’s just eat, shall we?” He didn’t miss Virgil’s thumbs up to a beaming Patton.

  They sat at the table as Patton spread bowls of every color and shape across the table for taco fillings - Logan watched Roman arrange his cup and napkin into no less than eight different positions before Patton had even placed the shells on the tabletop and sat down. The prince’s eyes were trained on his plate as if it would run away as soon as he blinked.

  Logan scrawled a note in his journal.

  “Well, we’re talkative tonight!” Patton exclaimed, raising his eyebrows as he dished a mountain of cheese on his taco, glancing around the table. “Are you all okay? What’s the happenin’?”

  “Patton, it’s ‘what  _ is  _ happening’, not ‘what’s the happening’,” Logan said. Patton’s smile brightened.

  “There’s my Logan,” he quipped with a chuckle, turning his attention to Roman and Virgil. “What about you guys? Wanna talk about your day?” Neither answered quick enough, apparently, as Patton was already on a tangent from his own question: “I helped out this precious kitty I found earlier outside the house, oh, it was so sweet, she had little brown stripes- I think it was a she, but I’m not sure actually, I didn’t check- anyway, it had a scratch on its little ear, it was tiny - the cat, I mean, the scratch was actually kinda big, I don’t know how a poor cat gets into trouble like that-”

  “Patton, are you not allergic to cats?” Roman said with a knit brow. 

  “Well, yeah, but I didn’t want it to get hurt  _ more _ , and I couldn’t just leave it out there-”

  As Patton continued discussing his latest impromptu stray patient, Logan glanced at Virgil from the corner of his eye; the anxious side was watching Roman carefully, his bangs pushed further in front of his eyes than usual and his bottom lip between his teeth as he drummed his fingertips on the tabletop. His eyes flickered to Logan’s. 

  Logan raised his eyebrows and nodded towards Roman -  _ do it! _ Virgil scowled.

  He pulled his taco shell apart and glimpsed at Roman’s outfit, giving Logan one last scorching look before saying, “Nice shirt, Princey.”

  Patton and Roman’s conversation went silent as Roman froze, looking slowly between his shirt - a gray pullover with a small crown in the corner - and Virgil’s face. “Excuse me?”

  “Your shirt,” Virgil said again, one eyebrow quirked. “It’s cool.” Logan swallowed a scoff.

  Roman stared at Virgil as if he’d grown another head, his eyes narrowed. “...Is there a joke that I’m missing out on here?”

  “What? No, I just said you had a nice shirt, jeez,” Virgil said, sinking down into his seat and tugging at the edges of his hood. Roman’s eyebrows shot up and his face turned crimson, a blush to top this morning’s. 

  “Oh, well, uh, thank you-” he gushed, “I’ve had it for quite a bit- I just never wear it, not out, I mean, er- I’m glad you- I mean, uhm-” He stopped and blinked at the table, biting down on the inside of his cheek. “Thanks- thank you.”

  Logan had to dig his fingernails into his palm to stop a laugh from escaping his lips - he made note in his book and scrawled a quick  _ compare reactions  _ in the margins before shoving it back in his pocket. 

  “That’s so sweet!” Patton squealed, his hands cupping his chin as he beamed at Virgil, whose face had also turned a pale pink beneath the shadow of his hoodie as he stared at the prince. “We gotta keep the nice train going!” Patton turned to Logan with sparkling eyes - oh no- “Logan, you’re very smart and I appreciate your hard work towards Thomas’s videos and his life!” Logan paused.

  “Oh,” was all he could manage for a second. “That’s- uh, very thoughtful of you, Patton, thank you.” 

  “Ya gotta say something back, Lo,” Virgil snapped back to attention with a smirk, mouthing an exaggerated ‘ _ do it! _ ’ when Logan glared at him. 

  “Right,” he muttered. He cleared his throat, scrambling for the words-

  Roman stood suddenly, his chair screeching across the floor. “I believe I’m going to keep working on the video,” he said; his voice wavered at the end of the statement, and he swallowed the tremble. “Please excuse me.” He spun on his heel and marched out of the kitchen, his eyes on the floor.

  The room was silent. 

  “That was weird,” Virgil said quietly, slowly placing his shattered taco shell back onto his plate. 

  Patton watched the stairs with wide eyes. “Did I say something?” he asked after a moment; he looked to Logan with unmistakable fear glistening in his gaze. “I just thought-”

  “No, I believe you’re perfectly fine, Patton,” Logan assured him before pulling out his notebook once more, scribbling down his observations in his own rushed font. “Actually, I was wondering if you could assist me with something concerning Roman.” He glanced up to see Patton’s frown and quickly added, “It will make him feel better.” 

  Patton’s eyes lit up. “Oh, what is it?”

  “I just need you to say something nice to him.”

  “Really?” Patton’s smile was back as he perked up in his seat and brought his elbows onto the table, leaning forward excitedly. “I can do that, no problem! What should I say- ooh, can I say anything?”

  “I suppose, as long as it’s a compliment of some form.” Logan watched with a small smile as the gears visibly turned in Patton’s head, until he noticed Virgil; he was slumped in his seat, his hands worrying at his zipper as his eyes traced the air. “Virgil?” His head snapped up.

  “I’m goin’ to bed,” the anxious side said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets after he dumped the taco shell crumbles on his plate into the trash and dropped his dish in the sink. 

  “Oh, your food-” Patton pouted; Virgil snaked an arm around his shoulders and squeezed in a brief hug, resting his chin on the fatherly side’s head.

  “Night, Pat,” he said. He offered Logan a wink across the table before shuffling out of the kitchen, his head ducked and shoulders hunched. Logan made a mental note to check on him later.

  “Goodnight…” Patton’s drooping tone trailed after Virgil’s slouched figure. He collapsed against his palm, his gaze cloudy.

  “Patton?” The other side looked up at Logan. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” Patton breathed; he straightened his plate without meeting Logan’s eyes. “I’m good. Just tired.”

  “Fal-”

  “Oh, I know,” Patton said before Logan could get halfway through the word, glimpsing at him with a shrug and a tired smile. “I don’t know what to do when this happens, Lo.”

  “When what happens?”

  “This,” he said, gesturing wildly around the room, his freckled face darkened with a heavy frown. “My kiddos are upset, and  _ I’m  _ upset because  _ they’re  _ upset, and now I’m still right here when they’re all alone in their rooms, and I’m just  _ waiting- _ ” He slumped back into his seat and pulled intently at the edge of his cardigan sleeve, his mouth a hard line. “I just don’t know. I don’t want to not be there for them when they need it most.”

  “Patton.” Those godforsaken puppy dog eyes met his and Logan tried not to pause too long to stare. “I am sure they’ll be fine; you do well to give them some space for a bit, and I assure you, you do exceptionally when you choose to close that gap. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Patton’s eyes started to shine. “ _ Oh.” _ He sniffled and let out a half-choked laugh, “Thank you, Logan. That means a lot to me.” A soft smile graced his face; Logan felt his head swim, but he assumed he simply hadn’t drank enough water during his work earlier and was such feeling the effects of dehydration. He made another mental note on that.

  “Hey, you kept the compliment train going!” Patton cheered suddenly, knocking Logan from his thoughts.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t call it a compliment,” he said, straightening his tie as he stood from the table to clear his and Patton’s plates, “but, more accurately, a simple fact derived via observation and subsequent evidence. A conclusion, if you will.” 

  At the lack of a patented bubbly response, he glanced over his shoulder from the sink.  

  Patton’s smile could have blinded a lighthouse- Logan swore in that moment that the lighthouse would be more than content to continue its existence completely useless just to have seen such an expression of pure joy on a face so wonderfully fit for it.

  Logan nearly stumbled into the sink.

  “Right! Well, I-” he cleared his throat and shoved the plates in the cabinet so they clattered against one another - he better not have broken any - before turning to back and heading to the door, willing himself to stand straight (ha). “I need to continue my work on Thomas’s next video, if you’ll excuse me.” Patton’s shoulders fell, and Logan scrambled to correct himself, “It’s getting late, Patton, you should retire as well. Perhaps you can check on Roman?”

  “Oh!” Patton stood, his eyes wide. “When do I say the nice thing?”

  Logan paused; he’d completely forgotten about his experiment for a moment. “It might be best to wait until tomorrow, so I’m able to observe his reaction.”

  “Okie dokie, Lo-kie.” Patton gasped. “Like Loki!” He scrunched his nose up, squinting at nowhere in particular. “...is that too soon?”

  Logan couldn’t help his own tiny laugh. “No, that was good.” Almost reluctantly, he started towards the stairs, offering Patton a small nod as he passed. “Goodnight, Patton.”

  “Night- and, Logan?” Logan looked back to Patton’s bright eyes. “Thank you.”   

  He felt a smile tug at his lips as he said, “Of course.”

 

  He was almost to his room when he noticed the black door near the end of the hall slightly ajar. 

  Virgil rarely left his room open to visitors - nowadays, he rarely left it open to himself, as he was far more prone to lounging with his earbuds and a worn notebook in his lap in the otherwise comfortable silence of the commons. Logan had to admit, he rather enjoyed the anxious side’s company - he brought an unassuming air about him wherever he went, one Logan found comfort in after spending however long with Roman (and, admittedly, sometimes Patton) - but he did question his authority to simply barge into the open room ahead. 

  Instead, he knocked gently on the fading wood and pushed it open an inch more, calling a soft, “Virgil?” before poking his head around the corner. 

  Virgil sat on his bed with his feet out in front of him, his earbuds out and hanging limply off the side of his nightstand. He stared straight ahead at his wall; he didn’t look over when Logan stepped inside and closed the door behind himself.

  “Virgil,” Logan repeated, leaning against the door and crossing his arms, “is everything alright?”

  “Is Princey okay?” It was a question, but Virgil’s voice was deadpan as he glanced at Logan.  

  “I’m not sure; I believe Patton is checking on him. May I ask why you’d wonder?” 

  Virgil knocked the toes of his sneakers together, narrowing his eyes at the wall. “Why did he get so upset?” He looked to Logan again and snapped, “Have you done enough research for that yet? Do you actually have anything for your little experiment?”

  Logan took a deep breath. “I don’t have anything on that yet, no. I need to collect more data before I can assess motives-” He paused, noticing Virgil’s scowl. “I believe you’re upset. Is it with me?”

  “Take a guess, Einstein.”

  Logan watched him, and he hummed quietly to himself. “I don’t think it is.” Virgil frowned. “Not completely, that is. What exactly is bothering you?”

  Virgil stayed silent, chewing on his bottom lip. 

  “What if something’s wrong?” he whispered after a minute, meeting Logan’s eyes through his bangs. “What if he’s-” He stopped short and swallowed. “I don’t want anything bad to happen, Lo. What if something bad happens to him?”

  “Ah.” Logan sat gingerly on the edge of Virgil’s bed, lacing his fingers together and raising his eyebrows at the other side. “Have you considered simply talking to him?”

  “‘Simply’ is an understatement,” Virgil snorted. Logan didn’t respond, just waited for him to continue. “We’re not really there yet, Lo.”

  “Where?”

  “The point where I can just ask him stuff!” Virgil said, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not that easy. He’d give me weird look like he did earlier, and then it’d be awkward for everyone, and I don’t want that.” 

  Logan sighed. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what to advise you there.” Virgil gave a halfhearted shrug, but Logan wasn’t finished. “Perhaps you can keep an eye on him? If you’re too nervous-” Virgil glared. “-excuse me, if you’re too-  _ cautious _ , maybe it will be better for you to observe for any signs of an issue from afar. If you notice anything, you can come to Patton or me. Does that sound more to your liking?”

  Virgil considered it, biting his lip again before he offered Logan a small nod. 

  “Alright.” Logan rose from the bed and gave Virgil a nod of his own, clasping his hands behind his back. “Well, I’m off to bed. If you have anything you need to discuss, you’re welcome to visit me at any time.” 

  “Can you tell me what Patton says?”

  Logan paused by the door. “I’m sorry?”

  “You said he was checking up on Roman,” Virgil muttered. “Can you tell me what he says tomorrow?”

  Logan’s mouth twitched into a smile before he could stop it. “Of course I will.” 

  Virgil sighed, his eyes closing for the briefest second before he met Logan’s gaze once more. He threw a two-fingered salute.

  “Night, Lo.”

  “Goodnight, Virgil.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Logan made it to the Commons before anyone else.

  He quite literally tiptoed down the stairs - dignity was pointless with no one to witness its loss - and shuffled to the kitchen, trying to avoid stray corners and dishes on the edges of tabletops; he wanted one morning, just  _ one _ , in silence for longer than an hour. He went like molasses around the kitchen, making a clumsy cup of coffee with his favorite notebook tucked under his arm, his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. The Commons were waiting when he got back _. _

  Logan rather enjoyed the room when he could find time and opportunity to see it alone - it was a phenomenon he hadn’t quite bothered to inspect, but the setting seemed to morph around its sole inhabitant. Logan wasn’t sure what it looked like for the others, as it only changed when a single Side resided within its walls - Roman had sketched his once, a throne room with lavish seating and shelves of crowns he never touched (Logan had expected no less)  - but his own experience with the shift was a study, warm brown walls and bookshelves and a loveseat he recognized as a style from the 19th century. (He tried to inspect the books on the shelves once. His hand passed right through; he supposed even the Mindscape had its limits. He was still disappointed.)

  So he sat, scanning and editing the next video’s script, which had appeared on his desk that morning (his name in loopy red letters and the small, doodled likeness of himself in the top corner gave him more than enough evidence as to its sender). He sipped his coffee, tuning in to the hushed buzz around him; more than often, it soothed his tendency to overthink the technicalities of his projects to mania. It danced around his head like a bumblebee, rustling his thoughts from their stoic position at the peak of his mind-’

  “Good morning, Logan.”

  Sh*t.

  He tried not to sigh as he glanced at his watch -  _ so close _ \- and turned to the voice on the stairs. Roman stood at the top; he glanced around the Commons, studying its setting- wait.

  Logan glanced around. The room was still set in his study, but Roman was there with him, so why hadn’t it changed?

  Roman seemed unperturbed and set down the stairs, his eyes grazing the furniture with sparkling interest. “Victorian? I would’ve pegged you as more practical Roaring Twenties styles.” Logan just watched as he sauntered to the bookshelf and perused the titles. Roman grabbed one - his hand didn’t pass through; perhaps Logan should have invested more effort into investigating the room - and simpered. “Dorian Gray. Love it.” 

  He must have noticed Logan’s whirring silence, as Roman turned to his position on the couch and snickered. “What, enjoying the view without me?” 

  Logan pursed his lips. “Well, yes.” Roman paused; a frown replaced his easy smirk for a moment before he continued trailing his fingertips across the book spines on the next shelf. “But how are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Being here.” Roman blinked. “In my version of the room.”

  The prince’s smile was back as he put a hand to his forehead with a sigh, draping himself across the couch on the other side of the room. “Logan, Logan, Logan, you poor naive thing, you.”

  “Never say any of that sentence in my direction again.”

  Roman ignored him. “The Mindscape is a magical place, yes?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say  _ magical _ ,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses, “as it’s formed entirely by Thomas’s cognitive-”

  The prince snapped his fingers; the books on the shelves changed to glinting crowns, sparkling in the light as much as the bright grin across Roman’s face. “But alas, magic is naught without a magician.” Roman admired the headpieces before peeking at Logan, his eyebrows raised as the logical side translated the statement into his own terms. “Every show needs a showman, right?”

  “Ah.” Logan returned to his notebook, missing Roman’s dejected look. “Well, that’s an interesting take on your job title, I suppose. Now, did you need something?”

  The creative side opened his mouth and closed it; instead of speaking, he waved a hand at the shelves, and they returned to their library status with little flair. “No,” Roman said after a moment, his voice small. “I just came to get some breakfast.”

  Logan hummed to himself as he sipped his coffee, which was quickly growing cold, and said, “I believe Patton planned on making pancakes this morning, if and when he gets up.” He suddenly remembered his conversation with the fatherly side from the night before and glanced up as Roman shuffled to the kitchen. “You seem to have recovered well.”

  Roman paused, meeting Logan’s eyes across the counter with a curious expression. “Recovered?”

  “The issue at the dinner table last night. You appeared troubled.”

  “Oh,” Roman said. He stared at the countertop, his gaze cloudy. “Of course.”

  “What exactly was wrong?” Roman furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowing with Logan’s question. “I assume Patton came to your room, but I’m curious.”

  “I was tired.” Roman pulled the cereal off the fridge so hard that Cheerios spilled over the side of the box. “It was a long day; I stayed up late writing the script.”

  “What did Patton say?”

  “Jiminy, Logan, why don’t you ask him?” Roman shoved a spoon in his bowl and went to the stairs without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “If you’re so  _ curious _ .”

  “You should talk to Virgil.”

  Roman stopped with one foot on the first step. “...what?”

  Logan grabbed his pen and flip notebook, jotting down quick notes as he said, “Virgil. He was rather distraught at your sudden exit yesterday; it may be in your best interest to discuss it with him. Soothe what anxieties you can, I suppose.”

  Roman didn’t respond immediately; Logan looked back at him to find the prince’s face set in a skeptical frown, his mouth open slightly like he was searching for words he couldn’t seem to find. “I-”

  “Morning, kiddos! You’re up early!”

  Patton’s bright smile lit up the Commons - which had returned to its living room style when Logan glanced at the walls - as he appeared at the top of the stairs, hands on his hips.

  Roman sighed. “Morning, Padre.”

  “Patton,” Logan nodded. Patton started down the stairs, cocking his head to the side at Roman’s halted position at their base, cereal still in hand.

  “Oh, Ro, I’m-”

  “Making pancakes,” Roman finished quickly, stepping to the side as Patton passed. “I know. I, uh, I’ll… I’ll just throw this away.” He cleared his throat and made to go up the stairs with the bowl.

  “Wait.” Patton put a hand out - Roman’s shoulders fell. “You gotta stay for breakfast! It’ll only take a minute to make!”

  “Right.” Roman caught sight of Patton’s faltering grin, and he gave a soft smile of his own, one that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Of course, Pat.” 

  The creative side dumped the contents of his cereal bowl into the sink - this is why they were always running out of food, Logan thought bitterly - and went back to his spot on the couch across from Logan, a small black book and matching pencil materializing in his hand as Patton whistled a bouncy tune from the kitchen over the clattering of dishes. Roman dutifully ignored Logan’s inquisitive glances.

  Logan set his notebook down and stood, swiping nonexistent dirt from his trousers as he walked to the kitchen. “Patton, may we talk?”

  “Oh,” Patton glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Sure!” He set down the carton of eggs in his hands and turned to face Logan, leaning against the counter. “Whatcha need?”

  “Did you speak with Roman last night?” Logan asked, lowering his voice so only the the fatherly side could hear him. 

  “Oh, yeah!” Patton glanced out into the Commons and slouched, as if his posture affected his volume, whispering, “He said he was okay, and that he was just tired.”

  Logan waited, but Patton didn’t continue. “That’s it?”

  “Mmhmm.” Patton went back to cracking eggs into the red mixing bowl on the counter. “I asked him if he was sure, and he said yes, he needed to get to bed now, and I said ‘oh, ok, goodnight, kiddo,’ and then I left because he doesn’t get enough sleep as it is, you know? And I made sure his light was out at ten, and then  _ I  _ went to sleep.” Patton glanced at Logan’s dubious expression, and his hand slowed over the bowl, an egg half-opened in his palm. “…he didn’t actually sleep, did he?”

  “I don’t believe so.” 

  Patton frowned. “He lied.”

  “Yes, it would appear.”

  The kitchen went silent, save for the forceful crack of eggshell against plastic. 

  “When do I say the nice thing?” Patton’s voice lacked its usual cheery disposition, but he gave a Logan a tiny smile when their eyes met. “I need something good right now.”

  A door upstairs creaked open and fell shut.

  “Anytime now would be ideal,” Logan said, nodding to Patton and making his way back to his notebook in the Commons just in time to see Virgil arrive at the landing of the stairs. 

  “Logan, Dad,” he yawned in greeting, shuffling the rest of the way down the steps; Patton waved from the stove. “Princey,” Virgil added quietly - Roman glanced up from his sketchbook and settled for a tight nod in return. “What’s cookin?” 

  “Pancakes!” Patton called, no pun to accompany his bright tone. “Do you want blueberry or chocolate chip?”

  Virgil hummed as he sank onto the dark purple beanbag beside Logan’s seat. “I’m in a blueberry mood.” 

  The apartment fell into a busied hush as each Side focused on their own activity - Logan and Roman scrawled away at their books, Virgil scrolled through his phone, and Patton maneuvered around the kitchen - until the smell of pancakes carried through the Commons, and Patton emerged with a plate to set on the coffee table. 

  “Eat up,” he said; Virgil watched him with a knit brow, but Patton just sat on the opposite side of the couch as Roman. The fatherly side met Logan’s gaze, and Logan gave a barely perceptible nod, notebook at the ready. Patton craned his neck to peek at Roman’s sketchbook; he smiled.

  “Oh, I love your picture!” 

  Roman’s hand froze over his paper. 

  He looked up slowly, his eyebrows knit as he stared at Patton. “What?”

  “I like your drawing! You’re so talented at art,” Patton said brightly, nodding towards the sketchbook in Roman’s lap. Roman glanced around the room; Virgil’s gaze fell back to his own lap, but Logan didn’t look away in time to miss the prince’s eyes. 

   The creative side’s eyes gaze went murky, colored suddenly with a spark of realization. “Ah.” He set his sketchbook down gingerly on the coffee table, flipping it shut and smoothing down the cover, and said, “I believe I finally understand what’s happening.”

  Patton’s smile faded as quickly as it appeared as Roman leaned back in his seat; he and Virgil looked to Logan with wide eyes, but Logan’s careful gaze was trained on the prince.

  “Have I forgotten something?” Roman asked, his voice stone. He clasped his hands together in his lap as he looked around the room again. “A birthday, perhaps? A deadline?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Logan said after a moment, sliding his notebook back into his pocket. 

  “So, what then?” Roman stared each of them down in turn. “Why the sudden…  _ this _ ?”

 Virgil shrunk back in his beanbag, glimpsing at the stairs as if they were his lifeline before looking to Roman. “...what are you talking about?”

  “The praise?” Roman demanded. “The compliments? Have I done something _so_ _wrong_ you all feel the need to humiliate me?”

  It was as if all noise had been sucked out of the air in the Commons. They all blinked at Roman in tandem; Logan opened his mouth and closed it again, scanning his mind for a conclusion that wouldn’t appear.

  “What?” Patton blurted out. 

  “Are you amused?” Roman huffed at them, his face pinched with a scowl. “Need I apologize for some unspoken sin? Why have you suddenly become so keen on- on  _ commending  _ me like this?”

  Virgil burrowed deeper into his seat with a choked, “Suddenly?” 

  “Yes,  _ suddenly _ !” Virgil flinched and Roman stopped, swallowing with an audible click in his Adam’s apple as he stood. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve such derision.” He didn’t look up immediately, but he didn’t move from his spot; Logan saw his shoulders shudder before he finally glanced up at them. “I’m  _ sorry _ , alright?”

  “Ro, you haven’t-” Patton cut himself off through already-teary eyes, meeting Logan’s gaze again with a pleading look. 

  Well, he supposed he couldn’t disregard that.

  “Roman,” Logan began carefully, “why do you believe you’ve done something wrong?” 

  Roman frowned again. “What do you mean, why do I  _ think _ ? Why else would you all be doing this?”

  “Doing this?” Logan repeated drily, trying in vain to smooth his face of irritation - this had become an awfully emotional encounter, one he hadn’t prepared for beforehand, and his patience was running thin rather quickly - and said, “You act as if we’ve never complimented you before.”

  Roman just stared.

  And something clicked - Patton and Virgil made eye contact for a split second, a wordless conversation and years’ worth of memories flitting by in a sequence Logan didn’t seem to follow as they both went ghostly pale. Patton’s hands flew to his face.

  “Oh,” he breathed. “ _ Oh _ , wait-”

  Logan paused with a furrowed brow; he scanned the room slowly, the faces, words. Pallor and shaking hands colored the Commons, but his vision was filled with a blue screen of sorts.  

  “Princey,  _ Roman _ ,” Virgil started, his voice trembling and dangerously low. “You’ve never said- you just didn’t- we-” He choked on the ends of his sentences before they escaped his whirlwind mind, “I never  _ thought- _ ” 

  And he cut off, staring intently at the ground as his breathing sped up, his lips moving around nearly imperceptible words - numbers, Logan realized; four, then seven, then eight. Logan nearly put a hand on his shoulder, but he knew now was not the time.

  Never- had they really...? Surely not, the probability was far too low, but… no, he couldn’t think of one specific instance in which they had praised Roman for his work alone, save for the past few days. 

  Roman’s eyes were wide as he watched the scene unfold, his face painted with what could only be horror. He took a step back, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Wait, please don’t get upset.” He swallowed, his hands hovering helplessly in the air, and he strode forward and lowered himself to one knee in front of Virgil with pleading eyes. “Virgil- Patton- it’s really not that big a deal, please don’t be upset, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to upset you- it’s just words, it’s not important.”

  “No.”

  Logan’s voice rang clear through the commons, the only sound untampered by worry or mania in the room; all three Sides looked up at him with wide gazes, shock mingling unabashedly with confusion and caution.

  “I am aware of how hard you work for Thomas,” he started, leveling his gaze at the fanciful side. Roman slowly lowered his hands from their position just above Virgil’s shoulders. “You do just as much as the rest of us - sometimes more, as reluctant as I can be to admit it. You’re an exceptional part of Thomas.” 

  Roman glanced at the others, swallowing again before giving Logan a miniscule nod.

  “Quite honestly,” Logan continued, “it’s never occurred to me that we rarely commend you, even when you deserve it.”

  “It’s not like that,” Roman insisted, pulling at the edges of his sash. “I understand, you can’t just give praise out willy-nilly-”

  “No, but not giving it carelessly and  _ never  _ giving it is a very drastic difference, Roman. It’s a difference that we appear to have ignored.” He inclined his head to the prince, setting his pen and notebook on the table. “I’m sorry.”

    “Ro,” Patton interrupted, his eyes still wide. “I didn’t realize- you just- you just seem so happy with yourself- and that’s not an excuse, but I just thought you didn’t need us to tell you when you did a good job- oh, that’s a dumb reason, I’m sorry-”

  “Pat.” Patton stopped and met Roman’s eyes, sparkling with compassion. “It’s alright, truly.” Roman shifted uncomfortably, still lowered on one knee. “I’m, uh, sorry I accused you all of trying to humiliate me.”

  “Trust me, if we actually wanted to embarrass you, there’s a lot better ways,” Virgil piped up suddenly, his token smirk printed clearly across his face, even under the shadow of his hood and the exhaustion still painting his features. He paused and glanced at Roman through his bangs. “Sorry, Princey.” He looked ready to say something else, but thought better of it. “We’re kind of jerks.”

  “No, you’re not.” Roman finally sat down, resting cross-legged in his spot; his eyes took on a faraway look as he leaned against the coffee table behind him. 

  “Thank you all,” he said after a moment. 

  Logan raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

  “Being here.” Roman smiled, more to himself than anything. “Being you.”

  Patton smiled as well, getting out of his seat and dropping down next to Roman to put his arms around the prince’s shoulders. “You too, Ro.”

  “Yeah,” Virgil shrugged, “we love you. Even if sometimes you can be a real pain in the-”

  “ _ Virgil _ .”

  “I was gonna say neck!”

  As the others crowded around Roman on the floor of the Commons, Logan grabbed his notebook and pen from the table and set them aside, out of view and out of reach.

  There was no need for them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long ,. , I have cried so many tears for the FBI agent watching me scroll through Tumblr and watch World's Sharpest Jello Knife instead of writing this ,.,. . forgive me US Government and readers alike


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROMAN YOU BEAUTIFUL FIGMENT OF IMAGINATION YOU

  "Listen, Pimé, I know I said I’d get up earlier than usual, but it’s been a long night, and frankly, it will mess up my sleep schedule, and that is unacceptable.”

  Logan buried his face further into his pillow, muffling the words before they made it out of his mouth. The air in his room was heavy with the Florida heat - although he supposed that was partially his fault for demanding a window in his bedroom - and inanimate silence. He glanced up for a second to look at the glass turtle on his sill, which, of course, did not respond; it just sat there, its little head pointed at him. (Judgmentally.)

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he groaned. The sun was barely up, but the figurine still cast a green glow around itself, stoic and ethereal at his window. He scowled at it. “You never sleep, so you can’t say anything. Literally.” A croaked laugh escaped his chest despite his heavy lids and foggy mind.

  Admittedly, Logan had already gotten less sleep than he was used to - he’d been up for hours after his scheduled lights-out working on the project - which might explain why he was arguing with a glass turtle all alone in his bedroom at five in the morning.

  He flipped over in his bed to face it better, staring earnestly into its unseeing eyes. “I’m tired, Epiméno. This is why we sleep the same amount every night, because, if not, this happens. Let it be a cautionary tale to all.” Logan squinted at the ceiling and groaned again. “I sound like Roman.”

  It happened every so often that he consulted the knickknack - usually in times of stress, times  he pushed himself too hard, dress rehearsal weeks and the days leading up to new videos, the likes. He’d go to his window before bed and stare at it, searching its patterns for an answer or advice or a simple reminder to sleep; if he truly thought about it, the little voice in his head that he tended to interpret as the turtle’s word sounded remarkably like Patton. Logan rarely bothered to mull over that particular fact.

  That morning, it was that little voice that goaded him out of his comforter and the promise of more sleep. Stupid turtle.

  He still patted its head as he passed.

  He changed quickly into his button-up and tie, rubbing his eyes and focusing on the kaleidoscope colors to wake himself up a little more before he walked to the door. Couldn’t risk breaking any more plates, Thomas rarely replaced them-

  “Logan!”

  He had to stop himself from screaming - _the turtle SPEAKS?_ \- but when he opened his screwed-shut eyes to look around the hallway, he was faced with the image of a bright blue shirt and cardigan directly outside his door.

  “Patton,” he coughed, adjusting his glasses as he closed his door behind himself and pretending he didn’t just jump a foot in the air. “Good morning- why are you up at this time?”

  “I’m excited!” Patton squealed. His voice was miraculously hushed for the beam across his face. “Aren’t you excited?”

  “Not…” Patton’s eyes were so bright that Logan stopped midsentence, sighing. “I suppose.”

  “I knew it! Hold up, we gotta go, we’ll wake him up.” He grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him down the stairs, all the way to the kitchen. The logical side followed with a straight face; he knew Patton wouldn’t stop unless an actual brick wall was in his way (although he’d probably find a way around that as well).

  “Okay,” Patton said as they skidded to a halt in the kitchen, hands on his hips. “We gotta do this fast, because Roman gets up early anyway, and he’ll be awake even _earlier_ today.”

  “We?” Logan repeated with a raised eyebrow.

  Patton glanced up from the fridge, a dopey smile across his face. “Yeah, we! Who else would help me make breakfast?”

  “Virgil?”

  “Nah,” Patton waved the suggestion away. “He’s not a mornin’ person, you know that!” He stopped, cocking his head to the side in thought. “I don’t think he ever gets up before ten o‘clock.”

  Logan hummed in response as he leaned against the counter. “Right. So what exactly are you- _we_ making, then?”

  “Waffles!”

  “Waffles.” Patton nodded, his bangs bouncing in front of his glasses. “Didn’t we just have pancakes yesterday? Should we not try something more nutritionally-beneficial to Thomas’s health?”

  “We have strawberries,” Patton suggested, pulling the carton out to show it to Logan. Logan raised his eyebrows.

  “That-”

  “To put on top of the waffles!”

  “Ah.” Logan rubbed his eyes again; he’d only been up for five minutes and yet he was already weary. “Well, I suppose that’s a compromise.”

  They set to work around the tight space, ‘baking’ (it was mostly Patton handing Logan ingredients to hold until he needed them, and Logan reminding Patton not to burn himself on the waffle iron, which seemed to happen more often than the fatherly side let on. Logan made a mental note to not let Patton cook unsupervised again). They had managed to concoct enough waffles for three people when-

  “GOOD MORNING!”

  “No!” Patton halted mid-waffle and practically tripped his way out of the kitchen to greet the flash of red on the stairs, leaving Logan alone with an armful plates and silverware and a burning waffle.

  “Roman!” the fatherly side smiled, his cheeks flushed. “Good mornin’, kiddo!”

  Roman’s smile seemed to radiate light, quite literally - his entire figure held a faint glow, which often happened to him in bouts of extreme emotion (the room went red one time, right after Virgil made a jab at Julie Andrews during one of their arguments); whether the light was intentional or not was undetermined, but Logan never noticed Roman put any noticeable effort into it.

  “Padre!” Roman greeted Patton brightly, ducking his head from the steps to see Logan in the kitchen, “Madre-”

  “What?”

  “-a glorious day is upon us! A blessed, honorable moment in history that should be treated as such, but will probably not be because the world is cruel in its acknowledgement or lackthereof- HOWEVER, I will not hesitate to honor it myself, along with you all, mi familia, to the highest possible degree! I trust I need not remind you of its meaning.”

  Patton watched him with an amused grin. “It’s your-”

  “It’s my birthday!” Roman threw his arms in the air, leaping down the remaining stairs and twirling at their base with a shout. He had on a deep red button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and white and gold applique flowers blossoming over his left shoulder, finished with black pants, a striking contrast to his usual white uniform. “My birthday, indeedie, awaited with bated breath by all! And tell me, how do we plan on celebrating the gift that is myself?” He looked between Patton and Logan with twinkling eyes, bouncing on his toes like a little kid with too much sugar.

  Logan knit his brow. “Oh, we…”

  “Waffles!” Patton exclaimed again, lacing his fingers together over his chest with a smile to rival Roman’s. The prince glanced to the kitchen with a wide gaze.

  “Waffles,” he repeated reverently.

  “With strawberries!”

  “With _strawberries_.” Roman’s smile grew as he leapt forward, grabbing a laughing Patton’s hands and twirling him around around. “Ah, it’s perfect! Absolutely phenomenal, Padre, only the best by the best! What a wonderful start to the day-”

  “Would you all keep it down, for _once_ in your life?”

  Roman stopped abruptly - Patton fell to the side at the lack of motion, blinking quickly as he braced himself on the couch - and spun to face the stairs, his face brightening (Logan didn’t know how; the boy was already like a beacon, and he’d only just arrived). “Virgil!”

  Virgil rubbed his eyes and squinted through the soft glow of the room, his hair messy but brushed to the side for once. He glared down at them. “What in g-”

  He finally noticed the excited prince at the bottom of the steps, and he froze, his sentence dying out with a start; his eyes traveled from Roman’s hair to his shoes. “You- look nice,” he choked out after a moment.

  Roman beamed, glancing down at his shirt with a proud simper and a red face as he tugged at the edges of his sleeves. “Well, thank you.” He looked back up with a cheeky grin. “I try.”

  Virgil stared for another minute before he cleared his throat, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “So, uh, what’s the noise about?” he asked, shuffling down the stairs and throwing Logan a scowl when he noticed the logical side’s smirk. “Someone die or something?”

  “Oh, quite the opposite, my Chemically Imbalanced Romance,” Roman cheered in a singsong voice, slinging an arm around the anxious side’s shoulders. “It’s a very special someone’s very special dayyyy!”

  Virgil raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “Well, happy birthday, Pat.”

  Patton burst out laughing at the offended sputters that escaped Roman’s mouth, and Logan couldn’t help but snicker as Virgil tried to conceal his smile.

  That is, until the smell of burning batter reached his nose.

  “Um, Patton,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the smoking waffle iron.

  “Oh, no!” Patton sprinted back to the kitchen, unplugging the iron and staring at it forlornly. “Well, I, uh…” He straightened up, pasting a smile back on his face. “I don’t need any, I’m not that hungry anyway-”

  “Nonsense,” Logan interrupted, finally placing all the plates from his arms onto the table. “It’s far too early for me to finish a waffle completely, you can simply have half of mine.” He glanced up to see all three other Sides staring at him; Roman and Virgil were smirking. “What?”

  “Aw, thank you, Logan!” Patton said with a lopsided grin. “That’s sweet!”

  Logan felt his face burn as Patton gave him a sideways-hug. “It’s not-” He sighed again, dutifully ignoring the others’ smug faces. “Right. Sure.”

  “I should open presents before we eat!” Roman interrupted, clapping his hands together as they sat down at the table.

  “It’s literally seven in the morning,” Virgil deadpanned. “And what makes you think we got you presents?”

  Roman stopped; his smile faltered and his bouncing slowed. “Oh. I- yes, I guess- that’d be fine-”

  “Relax, Princey, I was joking.” Virgil grabbed the plate of waffles, raising an eyebrow at the fanciful side’s relieved sigh. “Not about it being seven a.m. - I’m not going anywhere before food.”

  “Well.”

  Roman barely touched his food as the others ate, his eyes wide and his smile poorly hidden; every five minutes, he peeked at the plates around the table and made an oh-so-subtle noise to hurry them along.

  Finally, Patton stood and said, “Okay-”

  Roman jumped out of his seat, nearly smacking Virgil in the face as he flung his arms into the air victoriously. “Yes!”

  “Jeez, you’re like a five year old,” the anxious side muttered, but Logan didn’t miss the amused sparkle in his eyes.

  “Alright, Virgil, you wanna go first?” Patton goaded, elbowing him lightly in the side as they sat down in the Commons around Roman. Virgil frowned.

  “Oh, it’s…” He slowly pulled a cylindrical box the size of his palm out of his hoodie and pursed his lips at it before shoving it at Roman. “It’s not that great or anything, so don’t, like, get your hopes up. It’s just… yeah.”

  Roman gently took it, his tongue poking out between his lips as he peeled away the golden crown sticker and crinkled wrapping paper, careful not to tear any of it. He twisted open the box and gasped. “Virgil!”

  “I’m sorry, I know it’s not much-”

  “No!” Roman pulled out a small snow globe, a fiery orange base embellished with intricate branches and spiky red blossoms; in the globe rested figurines of Simba and Nala from Lion King. “It’s _amazing_ ! What- where- _how_ did you get this?”

  Virgil blinked. “Oh, it… I saw it online- I thought maybe you’d like it.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “Thomas didn’t need much convincing to buy it.”

  Roman didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on the globe, gawking at the golden sparkles that flew around the characters when he shook it.

  “...Roman?” Logan said after a moment of the prince’s fascinated silence.

  “Hmm?”

  “Would you like to continue?”

  Roman glanced back up and cleared his throat. “Of course!” He took a bit longer than necessary to slip the globe back in its box and smiled brightly at its blushing gifter. “Thank you, Virgil.” Virgil just nodded, sinking further into his seat.

  “Me next!” Patton shouted, whipping out a small flipbook decked out in varying cartoonish stickers and thrusting it at Roman. “Logan helped me make it!”

  The creative side opened it up and flipped through the pages, his nose crinkling up with his growing grin.

  “They’re gentle reminders!” Patton supplied, pointing excitedly to the pages Roman was on: _HAVE FUN!_ and _CREATIVITY ISN’T A COMPETITION - YOU’RE ALWAYS ENOUGH FOR US, KIDDO!!!_ “For when you need a pick-me-up, or you’re stressed out! They’re not that gentle because I wrote them all in capital letters, but-”

  “They’re perfect, Pat,” Roman reassured, tracing the letters softly. “I love it.”

  “Well, I suppose that leaves me,” Logan sighed as Roman gently placed the book to the side by the snowglobe. He stood and walked to the bookshelf, reaching to its top and grabbing a shoe box-sized package wrapped neatly in matte black paper to hand to the prince.

  Roman tore it open. “Ooh!”

  He pulled out a red leather journal and a set of golden pens tied snugly together with a white-and-gold ribbon, and his eyes went wide as he examined them to the millimeter.

  “I know we don’t always understand each other very well,” Logan admitted, watching the fanciful side admire the set, “but I believe we can agree that stationery is always well-received, for good reason.”

  Roman laughed at that. “Right you are, Specs. They’re wonderful.” He stood, cradling the gifts in his arms like children, a warm smile on his face. “Thank you all; I love everything-”

  “Wait!” Patton exclaimed suddenly. Roman raised his eyebrows. “Hold on, kiddo, I gotta go get your big present, just sit there-” Patton nudged Roman back to the couch before sending a quick wink to Logan over his shoulder. Logan gave him a thumbs-up in return, and the fatherly side ran upstairs.

  Roman stared curiously after him, his presents falling softly onto the cushion next to him. He glanced to Logan, then Virgil, a question in his gaze (a question neither of them answered).

  A crash sounded upstairs.

  “I’m good!” Patton’s voice drifted down to them, followed by quick footsteps before he reappeared at the top of the stairs, a box the size of his upper body blocking his face. “I’m good, just gimme a sec!”

  “Oh, dear,” Roman laughed, watching the fatherly side stumble down the steps with the package. “Do- do you need help?”

  “No, I got it! Just… gotta… get down there- ha!” Patton arrived safely at the landing, brandishing the box like a trophy above his head. He handed it to Roman and quickly fell back into his seat, watching him tear hesitantly at the paper.

  “Oh-”

  Roman stared at the object under the paper, his eyes wide and jaw slack. “Did you all- did you _make_ this?!”

  It was a poster, separated into three sections that were connected by a single, glittering cartoon crown; the first section was yellow with a white and light blue-striped heart underlying a paragraph of round letters:

_Dear Roman,_

_You’re one of the_ _~~nicest~~ _ ~~_funnest_~~ _most talented people I know, and I want you to know that every time I feel sad or stumped, I think WWRD (What Would Roman Do), and that gets me right back on track! You’re so good at art and music and probably dancing and also being sweet to people. You do such a good job for Thomas, and you make our lives better! I love you kiddo!_

  The second part was dark purple with thin chicken-scratch writing scrawled across a silver lightning bolt:

   _princey - we don’t always see eye to eye, but you’re pretty cool when you wanna be. maybe not cool, actually, but- nah, you know what, i’ll stick with cool. you have pretty good taste in music even though i’ll never say it out loud. you’re kinda a dork, but you’re our dork, and you mean a lot to_ ~~ _me_~~ _us, even if we don’t say it as often as we think it. i don’t really know how to say this kind of stuff, but we appreciate you a lot, ro. you work hard for us and thomas and we don’t give you enough credit for it. i actually enjoy your existence occasionally so there’s that too._

_patton just told me i have to write it so, we love you or whatever_

The third section was white with a dark blue question mark, simple and minimalistic underneath careful, deliberate handwriting:

   _Roman:_

 _We are very different, and I recognize that quite starkly, as I’m sure you do. However, I’m very often impressed by your ability to use those differences to Thomas's (and occasionally your own) advantage, to better his situation and/or his character. I’m impressed by_ you _, Roman. You’re extremely talented, and you deserve to know that from us more than we’ve let you know in the past._

_I’m not particularly skilled in articulating emotions, but I wish to let you know that I value your place in Thomas’s mind and your way of occupying it. Thank you for being there for Thomas and for us._

“Oh, sweet mother of-” Roman cut off, his eyes grazing the poster with unshielded awe. “I-”

  “Is it okay?” Patton asked hopefully, his hands clasped in front of his chest. “I thought of it, and Logan planned it out-”

  “I drew it,” Virgil said quietly.

  Roman stayed silent, but...

  “Roman,” Logan said slowly, “are you… crying?”

  “No,” the prince sniffed, pulling the board up slightly to block his glassy eyes. “Maybe. A little bit- this is the nicest thing- I just- you- I’m alright- _I just really love it_.”

  “Oh, Roman, don’t-” Patton got up and sat down at Roman’s side, surrounding him in a hug as he held back a laugh. “We love you bunches, kiddo. We couldn’t think of a better way to show you.”

  “It’s amazing,” Roman cried, burying his face in Patton’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Patton waved for Virgil and Logan to come join the huddle - Virgil frowned but got up, hesitantly sitting on Roman’s other side; the prince wrapped an arm around his shoulders without hesitation, pulling him in despite the anxious side’s surprised yelp. Patton reached back for Logan’s wrist and tugged him to his side as well, snaking an arm around his waist.

  “Thank you guys,” Roman repeated, his smile even brighter in the cramped area of their huddle. “I loved everything.”

  Even Virgil’s face lit up at that, and Logan couldn’t help but smile (just a little bit).

  “Happy birthday, Roman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first multi-chapter I've ever finished god bless  
> this was only gonna be three parts, but then I found out about Roman's birthday about a week ago, and now we're here! (;


	5. Chapter 4.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon on tumblr asked for a chapter from Virgil's POV with some angsttttttttt... but I also liked how it turned out.

   Virgil was sick of his reflection.

   Most people got sick of something after they’d had it too much, so it didn’t exactly come to him as a surprise. He’d been staring at his mirror for hours now; not intentionally (at first, anyway), because he’d just been staring off into space as he sat on his bed, and space  _ happened  _ to end up as his standing mirror in the corner of his room, so that’s where his eyes had remained. It wasn’t that bad - he’d actually really liked how he did his eye makeup today, from what he could see from his bed - until his eyes started traveling up and down the reflection. And now…

  Well, now it had been hours.

  Virgil examined his hoodie in the mirror, pulling at the decorative threads so hard he felt them struggle against the patched fabric. How long had he spent on this? A day? Three? He should have done more - he couldn’t pinpoint why, but it was  _ sloppy _ . Why had he thought he could make something, a  _ jacket _ , no less? 

_   He’d spent weeks gathering scraps of fabric from Roman’s room and unfinished crafts of Patton’s - he knew, on some level, that he could have just asked and they’d have happily given him some, but then they’d ask questions, and Virgil hadn’t wanted to reveal anything if it failed-  _ when  _ it failed. So he’d grabbed a patch here, a piece there, enough, eventually, to fix up the old hoodie he’d found in the depths of his closet, a vestige of his former self. He’d changed, so it would change, too. He’d make it. _

__ His eyes traveled from the jacket to his face. 

  He didn’t completely understand the Mind Scape and its inflections on the Sides, and he was flat out frustrated with its decision to give him freckles. Patton had them, yes, but he was practically the posterboy for everything the marks embodied - kind, bubbly, a little bit nerdy (but endearingly so); Virgil, on the other hand… his storm cloud aura was dented with the dots speckled across his nose and cheeks. He tried every morning to hide them under layers of foundation and powder, but he didn’t exactly have the best quality materials, and the makeup was almost always gone come evening. 

  He traced the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. Why didn’t Roman get the freckles?  _ That would have made more sense _ , Virgil thought bitterly, rubbing a spot on the apple of his cheek until it turned red.  _ Right brain and freckles. That could have worked.  _ He curled his hand into a fist before he could start scratching.

_    “Virgil! I require your assistance immediately!”  _

_    It had been admittedly odd to hear Roman use his actual name, even with their slowly-improving relationship, so he knew something was up. “What?” he’d groaned without looking up from his phone; it was late, and his screen was the only thing lighting up his face in the darkness of the Commons. _

_   “Patton and Logan are both asleep,” Roman continued, whisking into the room so theatrically that Virgil could see it in his peripheral, “but I need feedback at this moment. I simply cannot wait.” He paused as Virgil kept his gaze on the phone. “Right now.” _

_   Virgil finally glanced up at the prince, his eyebrows raised. “What, you want  _ me  _ to do it?” _

_   “Yes. Is that an issue?” Roman dropped his arms from their gesture of nobility and glanced at the stairs. “Should I come back tomorrow morning-?” _

_   “Nah, I’m not sleeping anytime soon.” Virgil switched to the flashlight on his phone, holding a hand out for whatever project Roman had brought with him. _

_   Roman just stood there. _

_   “Do you want me to look at the thing or not, Princey?” the anxious side said after a moment. his hand hovering empty in the air. “I have all night, but I’d prefer we don’t take that long.” _

_   Roman seemed to snap back to attention, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Sorry, you…” He cut off and covered his mouth. _

_   Virgil raised an eyebrow again. “What?” _

_   “You- you have freckles-” Roman smiled again, and Virgil had to have imagined the smattering of pink across his face. “I just didn’t know that.” He started to lean closer, but Virgil pulled away, shaking the flashlight off on his phone and standing up so quickly he nearly hit the prince. _

_   “I’m actually really tired,” he said, shoving past Roman despite his crestfallen expression. “Patton would give you better feedback anyway. Night, Princey.” _

  Virgil’s gaze fell to the notebook in his lap - he was writing earlier, before he got distracted, but now he felt a weight in his stomach at the thought of reading what he’d put down. He couldn’t bring his hand to he cover anyway; he might as well have chopped his arm off for the lack of feeling. All the sensation in his body had traveled to his chest, heavy and sickening as it forced a wave of numbness to the tip of his nose and behind his eyes. 

  A knock sounded at his door.

  He didn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror - he couldn’t, really - as he called a raspy, “Yeah?” into the thick silence of the room.

  “Virgil?” Another knock. “Uh, may I- will you open the door?”

  He sighed, peeling himself away from the flattened comforter at a snail’s pace; it was an excuse, a  _ reason _ , to get out of bed, but he knew that voice. He swung the door open. “What’s up?” 

  Roman seemed surprised that Virgil actually opened the door to him; his eyebrows were raised and he blinked a few times before straightening and plastering his token smile onto his face. “Virgil! Good afternoon.”

  Virgil waited, but he didn’t go on. “Yes?”

  “Oh,” Roman cleared his throat as he tucked an already-neat strand of hair behind his ear. “I- so, I had some free time,” he started, pulling at the edge of his sash, “and since we’re not filming until tomorrow but we already have everything we need and I can’t really do much in that regards and I needed to brush up on textile conjures anyway-”

  “Princey.” Roman stopped. “Slow down.”

  “Right. I-” He took a nearly imperceptible breath and pulled a small black bundle from behind his back. “I made this.” Virgil stared at it, and Roman gently nudged the pile forward. “For you.”

   “Oh.” Virgil blinked at it and slowly lifted the package from Roman’s hand, pulling at the purple ribbon and perky bow that rested on top. He unfolded it under Roman’s buzzing gaze to find it was a shirt, long sleeved and soft to the touch with a small silver lightning bolt in the corner - it looked like Roman’s, black instead of gray, with Virgil’s cartoonish logo instead of the creative side’s signature crown. 

  “You made this?” Virgil muttered, staring at the jumper. Roman nodded. “...for me?”

  “Well, yes,” the prince laughed. “I’m fairly certain you’re the only one of us with an affinity for storm apparel.” 

  Virgil turned it over, his gaze wide. “Why?” He gave a short chuckle as he glanced between his full hands and Roman’s expectant expression. “I thought it was just  _ your  _ birthday.”

  “Oh, you said you liked mine the other night at dinner,” Roman said with a smile before he slowed and knit his brow, eyes tracing the floor for a memory. “Although I suppose that didn’t end fantastically… which is mostly on me, of course, but-” He paused and shook his head to push away the thought. “Anyway, I had some spare time on my hands, and it’s been a while since I conjured clothing. Plus, I thought you might enjoy some variety in your wardrobe. I have a feeling that hoodie can get rather warm during the summer, iconic as it may be.” 

  He smiled at Virgil, bright and teeming with something nervous - Virgil glanced back at his room as the culprit. He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him, and Roman’s face fell.

  “I- uh, I didn’t mean anything about your hoodie,” he said quickly. “I think it’s very nice and well-crafted, I just thought- since you said mine was cool, maybe you’d- that was rather dumb, wasn’t it? I probably read too far into it, but I…” He cleared his throat and nodded to the shirt, still draped over Virgil’s arm. “You can keep it, if you’d like, but I understand- if you don’t want it, I mean.” He shuffled in spot for a second before turning on his heel.

  “Princey.” Roman stopped and glanced over his shoulder at him, his expression draped in  thinly masked hope. “I-”  _ love _ “like the shirt.”

  Roman’s face lit up suddenly, and he was at Virgil’s side in an instant, looping his arm through the anxious side’s with a bright smile. “Oh, wonderful, I was hoping! It’s a cotton blend, so it won’t be too heavy during warmer months, which is, you know, all the time here, but it should still be warm in that icy room of yours- and the lightning bolt can glow in the dark just like the crown on mine, but not in that tacky eighties way, you know, and y-” Roman slowed his tangent as he met Virgil’s eyes with a furrowed brow. “You… are you alright?”

  “What?”

  Roman frowned, leaning closer to Virgil until their noses were barely an inch apart. “Your eyeshadow is streaked.” 

  “Oh,” Virgil blinked at him and tried to ignore the burning sensation across his cheeks as he comprehended the prince’s words: streaked eyeshadow- 

  “Have you been crying?”

  F*ck. 

  Roman was staring at him, eyes twinkling with concern, as Virgil stuttered a lame, “Uh- no, I just-” He blanked, rooting through his mind for some excuse, something Roman (the  _ actor _ , for Christ’s sake) would believe - but the thoughts from earlier flooded his mind all at once ( _ tainted sloppy boring ugly _ ), and numbness welled back up inside him, branching through his limbs to his toes and fingertips and behind his eyes -  _ no, no, no- _

  “Virgil?”

  “I have to go.” He ripped his arm from Roman’s hold and spun to his door, pushing it open and yanking it closed behind just soon enough to feel Roman’s startled knock against its wood. 

  “Virgil, wait! I didn’t- you don’t have to tell me, I just wanted to make sure you were okay!” Virgil stayed silent as his breath caught in his throat, and he leaned against his door, squeezing his eyes shut. “... _ Are _ you okay?” 

_ Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look-  _ he repeated the mantra in his head over and over, sinking down the door onto the carpet as colors formed behind his eyelids - anything but the mirror. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see.

  “Virgil?” Roman’s voice carried into the room, and Virgil could feel the door shutter as the prince pressed the palms of his hands to it. “Can you… can you knock?” He heard soft mutters. “Uhm- yes, that’s it - knock once if you want to be alone, and twice if I can come in. Can you do that for me? Pretty please?”

  Virgil considered it before rapping his knuckles lightly on the wood over his shoulder once - then, a few seconds later, one more time.

  He heard a soft sigh and the door started to creak; he scooted to the side to let it inch open as Roman shuffled through the slit and closed it behind himself. The fanciful side glanced down at him, frowning and sinking down at his side. He didn’t say anything, just settled down and folded his hands in his lap, his mouth scrunched to the side as Virgil pulled again at the threads of his hoodie. 

  “Sorry,” Virgil muttered after a moment, his voice thick. 

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Roman said. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Virgil paused his picking at the jacket and leaned his head forward, resting it on his knees, swallowing the torrent of words that rose in his throat. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s alright, too.”

  And they sat like that for a few minutes in the alleviated silence, Roman staring serenely around the room and Virgil resting, his eyes still tightly shut. 

  “How did you do that?”

  Roman glanced to him with a start, his eyebrows raised. “Do what?”

  “Go so long without… anything,” Virgil breathed, pulling his head off his lap, eyes wide. “No praise or compliments or comments,  _ nothing _ . We didn’t do anything for so long, Ro.” He sent a sidelong glance to the creative side. “How did you not snap?”

  Roman watched him with a careful glint in his eyes before he sighed, leaning his head back against the door. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.” Virgil glanced at him again and he blinked, his lips pursed. “It was very bad. It… I don’t know how to explain it, really. It became a chore to create things I used to love. I felt like I was in a factory line, building meaningless nonentities for others- I do love giving gifts, of course, but it  _ never  _ seemed to be for myself, my own enjoyment and love of creation, and I started to dread sitting down at my desk for ideas and projects. I felt sick quite often, sick to my stomach, and very, very tired. Not sleepy-tired - I don’t think I slept that often, actually, maybe two hours a night - but tired in a very deep part of myself, so much so that I started to feel hollow more than anything.” 

  Virgil raised his eyebrows, an alarm blaring in his head. “Roman…”

  “You needn’t worry, Virgil. I’ve been feeling far better these last few days, and I view that as a remarkable improvement in and of itself.” Roman sent him a small smile - it held such a genuine sparkle that melted into his eyes, and Virgil realized with a pang in his chest how long it had been since one of Roman’s smiles had been so real. “I know I can talk to you all. I know you all care, and that you show it in different ways, and I’m learning to find those ways when maybe they’re a little less obvious, because I know they’re  _ there _ .” He got a faraway look in his eyes, but a shadow of the smile stayed on his face.”I trust you all, and I know now that perhaps I invested a bit too much into that trust, and it mutated into something painful, an addiction to the praise I wanted so badly. It was a yearning for validation, really. And I still want that, of course, but… it’s not my top priority; I know that  _ I  _ should enjoy my creations, first and foremost.” Roman finished with a nod, heavy with the comfort of being sure in himself after such a long time of feeling nothing like it.

  Virgil’s mouth had fallen open at some point in the prince’s soliloquy - he snapped it shut. “Wow.”

  Roman looked over with a another smile, but the satisfied twinkle was gone, replaced by wan expectancy. “I don’t suppose you have a reason for asking?”

  “Oh.” Virgil focused on his hands. “Well, it’s not… you had it way worse, so it’s not that important or anything, I just-”

  “Feeling bad isn’t a competition, Virge.” His gaze snapped up at the firmness in Roman’s words; the prince was staring ahead. “Your experiences aren’t cancelled out by mine. If you’re hurting, please tell me- or us, Patton or Logan, just tell someone.” He met Virgil’s eyes. “Please.”

  Virgil sat in shock, searching Roman’s face as he felt the pressure behind his eyes build up again. “Okay,” he choked out, nodding slightly. “Okay.” He scanned the floor for clarity, and he tried in vain to summarize his thoughts with some semblance of eloquence. “I don’t… feel good- I mean, I was fine this morning, and then...” His gaze drifted to the mirror, where he could just see the corner of his reflection from his angle at the door; Roman followed his eyes.

  “Ah.” Roman took a deep breath and held his hand out towards Virgil, palm up. The anxious side looked down at it, lifting his own and laying it on top after a moment of hesitation; Roman laced their fingers together and stood, tugging lightly at Virgil’s arm to lift him along. He strode across the room and sat back down - right in front of the mirror. 

 “So what’s going on?” he asked, glancing between Virgil and the glass. 

 Virgil stared at his reflection, searching his mirrored self for flaws before he could stop it - he was glad Roman’s hand still held his, or he might have pulled at himself, from his skin to his clothes and everything in between. “I don’t like it,” he whispered, dropping his eyes to his lap. “I’ve been staring all day and I  _ hate  _ it.”

 “What’s ‘it’?”

 “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Me. The mirror. Both. I don’t know.”

 Roman hummed in response, his gaze cloudy as he stared at the reflection. “Well,” he started, tilting his head to the side. “Which parts do you not like?”

  Virgil opened his mouth, but a choked noise was all that escaped his throat; Roman squeezed his hand, bumping their shoulders together lightly to encourage him. Virgil pointed to his jacket.

  “Your hoodie?” Roman asked; Virgil nodded, using his free hand to pull at the material, disdain clear on his face. “What about it?”

  “Messy,” Virgil said simply -  _ great _ , he thought bitterly,  _ I sound like a toddler.  _

__ But Roman didn’t comment on it; he just looked down at the piece of fabric between Virgil’s fingers and smiled fondly. “Well, I disagree. I was quite impressed when you revealed it- no, screw that, I was  _ astounded _ . It’s a phenomenal job, Virgil. You did wonderfully with it.” He paused, a tiny laugh bubbling in his throat. “I was actually very, very nervous to give you the shirt today, simply because I knew how well you did at creating this hoodie. I thought you’d find it far too simple.” Virgil shook his head, and Roman’s smile brightened before he turned back to the reflection in front of them. “Is there anything else?”

  Virgil hesitated, pointing gingerly to his nose, the smattering of freckles, dark against pale skin now that his foundation had faded. 

  Roman watched, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Patton has freckles.” Virgil shook his head. “...You don’t like them on you?” He nodded; Roman sighed, lifting Virgil’s chin and examining the marks across the anxious side’s face. “I don’t know that I can change your opinion on them, but I think they fit you rather well. Very flattering.” 

 Virgil willed the heat in his face to disappear before it made itself apparent, but, thankfully, Roman didn’t seem to notice as he continued, “Did you know freckles are supposed to represent how friendly someone is?” Virgil snorted, and the prince looked to him with a crooked grin. “What? You don’t think you’re friendly?”

 The anxious side raised his eyebrows.

 Roman laughed, leaning onto him a bit more as he smiled at their image in the mirror. “I think you’re a bit softer than you let on, Hot Topic, but I digress.” 

 They sat for a moment as the twinkling energy of laughter faded, leaving a ripple of warmth blossoming in Virgil’s chest; he looked into the mirror, and even as little things seemed to jump out to him as imperfect and frustrating and inane, he found he didn’t mind his reflection as much as he had - not with someone at his side, hand in hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> critiques and suggestions are welcome!!!


End file.
